


Curious

by jamieherondxle



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamieherondxle/pseuds/jamieherondxle
Summary: A prompt/requested Kitty ficlet: Ty is training in the institute with Kit, and to his surprise, Kit steps up to show him some moves.Prompt: “You think you could do better?”





	Curious

_Thwack._

The point of the knife found its purchase in centre of the corkboard, but landed a hair’s breadth outside of the bullseye. The handle wobbled.

Three, four times now, he had missed – not always the bullseye, but its centre.

Tiberius Blackthorn, normally, was famous for this — an expert thrower. But today was not his day. He prided himself on perfection; he prided himself on being able to perceive those tiny slices of space other Shadowhunters couldn’t; he prided himself on doing this with relative ease. He refused to step closer to the target. Perhaps it was his vision? But no. Ty knew the real problem, the thing crowding up the space in his head, blurring the edges, was located deeper in his mind. It was a road that always looked new once embarked upon, but always wended back to the same familiar, dark blot that could so easily drench out everything else: _Livvy_.

He heaved a sigh. Kit, standing somewhere behind him, was watching the target practice. He didn’t turn around, but Ty felt his gaze, a pressure hovering over his shoulders, as tangibly as if Kit had come up behind, only inches away, and touched a hand to his back.

Kit’s voice issued into the space, and for a split second, Ty was stunned that he could hear him: everything was so tangled, so loud inside his head. “Why don’t I try?”

“What?” Ty spun around, swallowing a lump in his throat. “You think you could do better?”

The words came out as an accusation, coated in disdain. A reprimand. He seemed to say, remember what separates you from me. I am a trained Shadowhunter, and you are not. Distantly, he was ashamed — he wished he could have said it differently, or said something else entirely. But Kit did not respond to the asperity in his tone, walking instead towards the table of throwing knives.

Kit chose a knife, and stepped into the pale shaft of sunlight. The sun seemed to drink him in, limning his silhouette in a way that made him look almost pearlescent; shimmering from every surface.

The sunlight sparkled off the the sky-blue of his eyes, highlighting the length of his eyelashes; the Herondale ring, as his fingers curled around the knife’s handle, suddenly dazzled his eyes. The pallor of the morning sun cast the blond of his hair a whiter, creamier blond, but not pale enough to be like Mark’s, his brother’s – he couldn’t think of a word to capture it. If Julian had been painting him, he would been able to get the exact shade. Growing long again, his hair was curling and waving freely over his head, and the ends gleaming in the sun.

Kit positioned himself in front of the target board and pushed up his sleeves, rolling his shoulders back. His forearms were dotted with bruises along the bone, around the elbow, but the skin was otherwise unscarred. Bluish veins, protruding from the skin, branched out from his wrist and upwards over his arm. As he adjusted his grip on the handle again, he watched the tendons bunching, jumping up and down beneath the skin. Ty felt somewhat aggrieved by how quickly Kit had, since he began his training, packed on muscle — he did not yet have the kind of bulk that Julian or other Shadowhunters did, but it was nonetheless clear that his frame was not as naturally lean as Ty’s.

Kit lifted his arm and braced his feet apart. The hair on his arms caught the light. There, it was golden, long. Ty found himself wondering if it was the same all over his body. He imagined what the texture would be like, traced under his fingertips. Fine. Soft. Smooth.

Ty did not feel guilty thinking about these things. He was just curious.

Curious.

_Thwack._

Where he had thrown wide; Kit had thrown true, precisely in the centre.

He watched a triumphant smile creep over his mouth. “Been practising.”

“With Jace?”

He nodded, glancing over at him. “Look,” He said, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, elbows at right angles, “You’re just not focused.”

“Yes, thank you, I know that.” His voice was curt.

Kit murmured, “Come here.”

He wouldn’t have — if it had been anyone else. But he went to stand by him, lifting his head — at least Ty had this; he remained taller than him. Kit said, “Jace gave me a good piece of advice, once. He said, if you can’t block it out, if you can’t focus, stop trying; use it instead. Channel it. Concentrate it all into one place. Fight with your past, rather than against it.” Kit wandered over to the table, and offered him another knife. “Try again.”

Ty looked at Kit as if he’d just given him an epiphany, and took the knife from him.


End file.
